


Crossed

by TheProperLexicon



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, baz doesn't know why, simon is pissed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProperLexicon/pseuds/TheProperLexicon
Summary: Ok, so Snow is pissed. Baz gets that. He's not sure why, but it's pretty clear he is. He's wearing thirteen crosses and making Italian for dinner. Baz has clearly done something wrong. He just doesn't remember what it is. And Simon isn't helping him figure it out in the slightest. Probably because he's so pissed.(Saw this prompt on tumblr and had to write it, because it made me laugh.)Rated Teen because Rowell gives us very sweary characters and you better believe I brought that over.





	Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tumblr prompt:
> 
> A human is pissed at their vampire boyfriend so they put in silver sterling tongue stud and bracelets and earrings, and their vampire boyfriend is just standing five feet away like, "C'mon, babe." (I clearly used crosses, because it's canon.)
> 
> "What are we having for dinner tonight?" - "Italian." - "TALK TO ME."

I’m not entirely sure what I did. It’s likely that I didn’t even know I was pissing him off when I did it. It’s also likely that I did know and was doing it on purpose. I do that a lot. He’s the one who constantly says he’s not a very good boyfriend, but really, I think we both know that’s me. I act like I’m ignoring him a lot. Even when I’m not. It’s a hard habit to break after so many years of pretending I hated him. I still try to break it, though. Sometimes I don’t do so well. Which would explain today, I think.

It started this morning, when I woke up. The window was open; it’s always open. It’s annoying as fuck. I’m constantly cold, and normally I don’t care because Snow is curled up beside me and he’s a fucking furnace. But he’s not there this morning, and I’m cold. Normally, he closes the window when he gets out of bed, but that clearly didn’t happen today. Today he left it wide open, so the sunlight is streaming in and the air is freezing. I groan as I roll over to glare at him, but he isn’t at his desk. He isn’t even in the room. I sit up and listen. The apartment is silent. Bunce is in America on holiday, and it’s a Saturday so he’s not very well at class. I climb from the bed and wrap one of his giant cardigans around me. It still smells of him, all warm sunshine and sweet grass. I cross to the window and close it, peering down the hall as I do. The television is off, and there’s no sound in the kitchen. Has he really gone out? He must have left a note, he always leaves a note.

I leave the room and pad down the hall, listening for the sounds of life as I do. Maybe he’s playing a video game with his headphones on so as not to wake me. Normally I can hear the mashing of the buttons when he does that; he has no strategy. Just like at Watford, he still doesn’t think. He just runs full speed at something and hopes he doesn’t die. But there’s no sounds from the living room and as I round the corner I find out why. It’s empty. I sigh, turning to the kitchen. He normally makes such a racket when he’s cooking that it seems impossible for him to be doing anything in there at all, but I go anyway.

I push open the swinging door and peer in. There he is, sitting at the table, a book in front of him. He appears to be studying, and I take a moment to appreciate the way the light plays on his copper curls. His freckles are standing out in stark contrast, and I want to kiss every single one of them. I take a step toward him and immediately my skin starts to crawl. It’s a cold tingling, a phantom feeling. It tugs at my memory and I feel my heart drop. _He’s not_ , I think, panic surging through me. _He’s not really wearing it_.

“Snow,” I say, and I know my voice has come out darker than I meant it to. It’s the fear, I can feel it making me cold, even in his sweater. He doesn’t look up and I side-step to get a better look at him. There it is, a glint of silver at his collar. He’s wearing that damn cross again. My eyes flit over him and I notice it isn’t the only one. He’s got a ring of silver, etched in crosses all the way around. _Where the hell did he even get that?_ I wonder, my face is colder now as all the blood I drank last night rushes to my chest and it tightens. He hasn’t looked up yet. “Snow,” I say again, wondering if he didn’t hear me the first time. I try to step closer, but I can’t. It hurts. Actively hurts now. Not like before. He must have more fucking crosses on him. This feels like walking into church. Everything aches, like it did when I finally got out of the stupid coffin. He looks up.

“What is it, Baz?” he asked, his tone as cool as ice. Fuck, he’s mad. I knew he was upset when I crawled into bed late last night, but I assumed it was because I woke him up. This is something more, though. This is something bigger than just being jostled awake. “I’m studying.”

“It’s… It’s Saturday,” I say, because I have nothing else to say. Any other words are caught in my throat. _Why the fuck are you wearing so many crosses? What the hell is wrong? How can you be this mad when I have no idea what I’ve done?_ All the words are trapped as I stare at him.

“So, it is,” he counters, dropping his gaze back to his book. I want to go over to him, snap the book shut and rip the cross from his neck before dragging him back to bed and snogging him until he forgets why he’s mad at me. So, I take that next step toward him and immediately retreat. It actually burns. He doesn’t look up, but I know I’m trembling.

“Snow,” I growl, finally letting my frustration show. He doesn’t look up. “How many crosses are you wearing?” It’s the only straightforward question I can formulate right now.

“Five,” he answers, turning a page of the book and not looking up. I gasp, but he keeps his eyes glued to the page. “Not counting the eight on the ring.”

“Thirteen,” I murmur. “You’re wearing thirteen crosses.” He nods, still not looking up at me. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” I demand, feeling the anger surge up now. I stamp it down. Getting angry would be counterproductive to figuring out what’s bothering him.

“Nope,” Snow replies, taking down some notes. “Figure it out yourself.”

Something about the way he phrases it nudges at my memory, but I can’t place it. My skin is itchy and I’m unbearably uncomfortable. I back up, away from him. It’s the opposite of the direction I want to be heading, but I feel less like there are bees under my flesh, and I can almost breathe normally. “Simon,” I try a different tact. I soften my voice, my face. I use his first name, he usually melts when I do that. But not today; today he ignores me. He’s gotten really good at it, and I can’t help but feel a surge of frustration. He’s likely been taking notes from me in that department. “Come on, love. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He lifts his head to glare at me, those nothing-special blue eyes that I love so much are dark. “Figure. It. Out. Yourself,” he growls, his lips a firm line. Then, he bows his head and makes a note in his notebook. “Someplace else, please. Your breathing is annoying me.” I gape at him as my own words tumble from his lips. I say that all the time when I’m studying. He really has been taking a note out of my book. I back up again, pushing the door with my shoulder, and step out of the room. As the door swings shut between me and the crosses I can feel my skin loosen and my shoulders sag. Simon Snow is fucking pissed as fuck, and I have no idea why. I retreat back to our room to consider it.

 

It has been hours since we last spoke. Then, it was lunch time and he had made himself a sandwich. He was playing his video game with the sound low, but without headphones, so I went out to try to talk to him. Just being in the living room with him made me miserable. Without the border of the kitchen door, the whole space vibrated with those stupid crosses. I had to go back to our room and close the door. Now, it’s dinner time and I’m starving. I still haven’t sorted out what I’ve done to make him this mad. I’ve never seen him so upset with me, even when we were at Watford and he hated me. I couldn’t eat at all, and while I don’t need food as much as everyone else, I still need a little. I also need to hunt tonight, I know that. All the energy around the crosses has drained me. I might drive out to hunt a deer, I don’t think the supplies Bunce keeps for me in the mini fridge under the sink will satiate me tonight.

I step out into the living space and I don’t feel the buzz of hornets in my arms. Maybe he’s taken them off. I don’t know where he would have put them so that I don’t feel them, but they’re gone. I come into the living room and realize the reason. He isn’t on the couch anymore. I frown, glancing around. Then there’s a clatter in the kitchen and I fight a smile. There he is, making a racket as usual. I push the door open and immediately the smile dies on my lips. He’s still wearing them. I stop in my tracks and stare. He’s at the stove, stirring something in a pot. I catch a hint of smell wafting over and my stomach turns.

“What are you making?” I asked, my voice cracking as realization slams into me.

“Pasta with garlic sauce,” he retorts over his shoulder. “Want some?”

My heartbeat thunders in my ears. He’s still just as angry now as he was before. “Talk to me, love. Please,” I plead, an unusual stance for me, for sure. He acts like he doesn't even hear me. I sigh, raking my hand through my hair and I’m hit with how much I want his hands there instead. “Yes, fine. I’m… I’m going hunting tonight. I’ll be home later, again…” I trail off, hoping he’ll tell me that he’ll come with me. I have no grounds to think he will, but the hope is still there. He doesn’t bother turning, he just stands there, stirring whatever is in the pot in front of him. “I… uh. I love you,” I whisper, hoping he hears me. I see his shoulders tense and I know he has, but he doesn’t reply. “Ok, I’ll be home late. I’ll… I’ll try not to wake you.”

I’m uncertain, and I hate it. I don’t know if he wants me to come back here tonight. Maybe I should sleep at Fiona’s. I haven’t slept there in months, and she might think it’s weird if I do now. Maybe I’ll just sleep in my car. Or go over to my cubicle at the library and sleep there, I’ve done it plenty of times during finals season. I open my mouth to ask him if I should come home at all, but at the last moment I chicken out. If he says no, everything will shatter. So, I turn and leave. My hands are trembling all the way out of the building and into my car.

I take my time starting the thing, hoping that he’ll come barreling out of the front door and into the snow. Hoping he’ll tell me to stay. That leaving is exactly what he doesn’t want me to do. He doesn’t have to tell me why he’s mad, but I want him to tell me to stay. I’ll drink every single bag of blood in that tiny fridge if I can stay in the apartment with him. He never comes down, so I turn the engine over and drive into the darkness.

 

I’m miles outside of town when I pull over. The woods here are primed for hunting, and I know I can eat well, but I don’t get out of the car yet. I consult the time and I know it’s late afternoon where Bunce is staying on holiday, so I pull out my cell and press her name. It rings a few times, and I’m starting to feel like a total git for calling her when her breath floods the line.

“Baz,” she greets, and I hear the smile. “Hey, how are you?”

She’s so damnably nice, and that used to annoy me but now I’ve grown used it. Sometimes I need it, like right now. “Hey, Bunce,” I say, my voice soft. It’s all I can do to keep it from wavering like I’m about to cry. _Am I about to cry?_ I think I am. I hate myself a little more with that thought.

I thought I had control over myself, but Bunce is strangely perceptive, even over the phone. “Uh oh, Baz. Hold on. Give me a second.” I hear her excusing herself from someone on the other end of the line, and Micah’s voice takes over for a moment as she moves away from him. I hear the click of a door and then silence. “What’s happened? Are you all right? Has something happened to Simon?”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and bow my head so that it rests on the steering wheel. “He’s so mad at me,” I exhale, not willing to lie. I called her for a reason, after all. “He’s wearing thirteen crosses and eating Italian for dinner. Pasta with garlic sauce, Bunce! Garlic sauce! He knows I’m allergic!” I say the last bit because I’m never willing to say the real reason out loud, at least not to anyone but Snow. I know Bunce knows, she gets me blood bags for fucks’ sake. But I still can’t say the word, no one around me does, either. I hear her breathing on the other end of the line and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to call her a mouth-breather, like I do with him. But it’s too horrible, and I can’t be mean right now. I’m too vulnerable, I’m too worried. I need her help, and I can’t piss her off.

When she speaks, her voice is soft and gentle and it almost brings those surface tears I’m feeling up over the edge of my eyes. “Baz,” she says, her words a balm on my tattered nerves. “What did you do today?”

“Well, I tried talking to him. But he wouldn’t let me close, what with all the crosses. I couldn’t even stand in the same room with him.”

“Ok,” Bunce says, even more gently than before. “And what were you doing on this day last year?”

“What?” I ask, feeling my brow furrow where it rests against the steering wheel. “Last year? What sort of question is that?”

“Think about it, Baz,” Bunce pushes, and I do. On this date last year I was home from Watford, and Simon and I had decided to go meet Nicodermus. What a terrible time that had been. I hadn’t been able to get any answers from him, and I’d been so mad about it. Furious. I think Snow thought I was going to kill us as I careened through the streets of London. He had used his magic to keep us going, to get us out of the city. Then… I gasped.

“Oh, fuck,” I murmur.

“There it is,” Bunce mutters into my ear. “Yup. You got it, now.”

“Oh, fuck,” I say again, louder this time, as I lift my head up and stare into the darkened woods. “I can’t believe I fucking forgot.”

“Me neither,” Bunce replies honestly. “With how much time you spend mooning over him and pretending you aren’t, I thought you would have had some big event planned. Never thought you would have forgotten completely.”

The words Snow repeated at me this morning come flooding back. He had asked yesterday what we were doing today. I had been working on a paper that was due at midnight and hadn’t been paying attention. He asked again, and I had said it without thinking. Without wondering why he was asking. _Figure it out yourself_. I hated myself all of a sudden. What a terrible boyfriend I was. He thought I had something planned, and I was an arsehole to him. “Shit, Bunce, I fucked up,” I mutter, leaning my head against the headrest. “I fucked up so badly.”

“You can recover from this, Baz. I promise,” she is trying to comfort me, but my heart is racing in my chest. I can feel my breathing getting more and more shallow. “Listen to my voice, Baz, listen to me,” she’s still talking. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m in the woods, about an hour outside the city. I needed…” I trail off. She knows what I’m doing here, I’m not about to say it. “I wish I was home.”

“I’m sure he does, too,” she coos, it’s the only word for it and if I wasn’t so worried I would hate the sound. “Listen, do what you need to do, and then go home. No matter what he’s acting like, he wants you home with him. I promise you.” She pauses as though to let her words sink in. “But, maybe don’t go home empty handed. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, Baz. He needs to know he’s not alone in that, ok?” I nod before I realize that she can’t see me. I make an affirmative noise, my mind already racing to how I can make it up to him. I’m exhausted and blanking out, maybe I’ll think better once I’ve eaten.

I hear a noise on Bunce’s end of the line and Micah’s voice floods in, “Penny, why are you sitting in the dark in a closet?” I snort.

“Sorry, just talking to Baz,” Bunce replies and I hear her grunt as she seems to be getting up. “He and Simon had a row.”

“Oh,” Micah says. “Well, tell him to buy some flowers and chocolates. Simon seems the type to like that sort of thing.”

“Not a bad idea,” I murmur, but a better idea strikes me. “Thanks, Bunce. Enjoy your holiday.”

“Anytime, Baz. Good luck. Have a good night.”

“Night,” I say as I reach out to disconnect. The line goes dead and I sigh, closing my eyes as I lean my head forward and rest my chin on my chest. I sigh again. I can’t believe I fucking forgot.

 

It’s late when I make it home. The lights are out in the apartment, our bedroom door is closed as I make my way toward it. There’s an object hanging on it, and I can’t help but frown as I get closer. It’s our mirror. Written in red dry erase marker is a warning. _I’ve taken off my crosses so you can sleep in here. But I’m still not speaking to you. Don’t wake me up._ He knows I can see myself just fine in mirrors, that lore is stupid but he’s just doing it now to be a prick. Which, at this point, I totally understand. I let myself into the bedroom, expecting to be hit with the stomach-rolling scent of garlic. But the room only smells of Simon.

I don’t bother with the light, I can see fine without it, and I know that it will just piss him off when I inevitably wake him up. He’s left the window open again, and snow is falling softly past the curtains. I don’t know how he stands sleeping with the windows open when it’s actually snowing out. I reach out to close it, but the hinge squeaks and I hear his sleepy voice come from the bed. “Leave it open,” he mutters, his back to me.

“You’ll get sick,” I reply, clicking it shut.

“What do you care,” he whispers and my heart lurches.

“Oh, Simon,” I sigh. “Don’t say that.” He doesn’t bother rolling over, or arguing, or doing anything at all and somehow that hurts more than what he’s been doing all day. “Listen, I’m a total arse. I know I am. I can’t believe I forgot. I hate myself for how rude I was to you last night when you were plainly excited for whatever I had planned. But, I didn’t have anything planned. Because I forgot.”

He isn’t asleep, I know the difference in his breathing. But he also hasn’t rolled over to look at me yet. I don’t think I’ve made a difference in how angry he is. “I’d like to say that I had a lot on my mind, but that’s not altogether true. I mean, I do. But it’s mostly you, so clearly that isn’t an excuse. I mean, school has been rough, but that’s not enough either. All I can say is that it is incredibly difficult to believe that it’s been a whole year since I first got to kiss you.” I sink down on the edge of the bed, my back to him, and bow my head. I keep talking, because now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Is this how Snow feels all the time? This constant need to force words out like he’s dying from holding them in. “Waking up beside you every morning is heaven, a heaven I honestly thought I was never going to get. You’re everything to me. You’re the sunshine I feel. The air I breathe tastes like you. The beat of my heart feels like your voice. And if I had made the connection that I had felt that way for a year already, you know I would have planned the hell out of our day. But… I just didn’t. Because I didn’t know I could feel this way for that long.”

I’m not moving, I’m barely breathing. I’m flushed pink from the deer I drank earlier, and from the embarrassment of saying it all out loud. I’ve never been good at this, I’m not sure I ever will be. I’m better at cold and bitter commentary, at squaring my shoulders and hurling an insult. But it’s dark in our room, and the air is chilled, and I can almost pretend I’m alone as I say it all.

Then, I feel the bed move and my heart starts to pound against my ribcage. I’m worried that he’s getting up to leave. Maybe he’s going to go sleep on the couch. Or maybe he’s going to get the crosses so that I will. But then his legs appear on either side of mine, and his arms snake around my waist to hold me close to his warm chest. I exhale without realizing that I’m holding my breath. “Damn it,” he whispers against my shoulder. I can feel his warm breath through my sweater.

“What?” I ask, bringing my hands up to trail them over his bare forearms. I can clearly see those freckles and moles I love in the darkness.

“That was really good.” His admission makes me break into a smile and I pull his arms tighter around me. “I’m sorry about the crosses,” he whispers and I feel myself shudder at the memory of them. He hugs me tighter. “I never should have done that. It was awful of me. I could tell in the kitchen this morning how they hurt you, but once I had made the statement I didn’t know how to take it back without you thinking I had forgiven you. It was a bad play.”

I shake my head. “Honestly, if you hadn’t gone to such extremes, I probably wouldn’t have figured it out,” I reply. “But, hell, Simon. Please don’t ever use that many again. The ring would probably be enough to stop me from getting close.” I think about what I’m saying. “Wait, no. Forget I said that. Never use crosses again, please.” He chuckles into my shoulder and I lean back against him, enjoying his warmth in the cold room. He smells like shampoo and toothpaste. He clearly showered. “You don’t smell at all like garlic.”

“I didn’t eat any,” he murmurs in my ear. “I had no idea how long it would take us to make up, but I didn’t want you to get sick when we finally did. If you had come over to the stove, you would have seen it was just garlic oil in the bottom of the pan. I had peanut butter and jelly for dinner.” A bark of laughter escapes my throat and I feel him smile against me. “I love you, Baz.” The words are a whisper, a promise. They say it all, just those four words. They are everything to me.

“I love you, Simon,” I reply.

He pulls away, sliding back under the covers to let me change into my pajamas. When I’m finally between the sheets beside him, his arms come around me properly and he presses his lips gently to mine. He’s all warm and snuggly, sighing as I press my cool hands to the small of his back. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks, his voice sleepy.

“Well, I was thinking we could hang out here and be grossly happy boyfriends. If that’s ok with you?” He nods, his eyes drooping. “I stopped at the store and got that video game you wanted. I figure we could build a blanket fort and play it through.”

His eyes pop open, all nothing-special blue, and he stares at me. “You hate video games,” he whispers. “Waste of time, you always say.”

“But I love you,” I reply, just as softly. I can hear the reverence in my voice, and tonight it doesn’t irk me the way it usually does. Maybe because he isn’t wearing any crosses, and he’s letting me draw circles against his fiery skin, and he’s looking at me like he’s so madly in love that it hurts him. I know it hurts me sometimes. “And nothing with you will ever be a waste of time.” A smile stretches across his lips and then he’s kissing me. And I’m kissing him.

A year later, and I’m still kissing Simon Snow.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I was going to do a Carry On fic. I've been enjoying just reading other people's. But man, this prompt was too fun to ignore. And I love the way these characters are written, canonically. So, here we are!


End file.
